


Pride and Punkass Terrorists

by castielofasgard



Series: A Tale of Two Bombers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Lots of Firsts, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pietro is unsure of the morality of his actions, Pining, Polyamory, Self-Discovery, The wildest undercover mission imaginable, Undercover as a Couple, but is too horny and lovestruck to bother about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielofasgard/pseuds/castielofasgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro and Clint are sent on an undercover mission, pretending to be a couple at a Pride event, in order to take out a terrorist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretend It's Pretend

“You wanted to see me, Captain Rogers?” Pietro said.

“Yes, I did. Come on in, Pietro,” said Steve, beckoning him into the office.

Pietro came inside, closing the door behind him. It was pretty clear by the lack of any sort of personalization to the room that Steve was still getting used to the idea of having an office. But as Tony had said, he was the boss and the boss gets an office. Steve was sitting at the desk, a pair of official-looking folders in front of him. Standing on the other side of the desk with his back to the door was Clint Barton. Pietro stepped forward to stand next to him, glancing over at him as his heart fluttered nervously.

“I’ve got a mission for the pair of you,” said Steve. “Deep undercover spywork, though there could be some action depending on what you find. Of course, the nature of your covers is kind of... unusual, so if either of you is uncomfortable with it, we’ll have to figure out a new strategy.”

“What’s the job?” Clint asked.

“There’s a two-week weapon developers convention in Boston, and one of the guests is a terrorist who we’ve had on our radar for a while now. He’s been working his way up in some big weapon manufacturing companies, getting himself respected enough to be invited to these events. Our intel says that he’s planning to set off a bomb at the end of the convention. Your job is to take him out as discreetly as possible, find the bomb, and deactivate it.”

“That sounds easy enough,” said Pietro. 

“There’s a catch,” Steve continued. “This convention is highly exclusive, invite-only, and they have rigorous security, so there’s virtually no way to sneak in. However, there _is_ a way you can find our terrorist without ever going to the convention.”

“And what’s that?”

“There’s a two-week long Pride event happening at the exact same time as this weapons convention, and they’ve rented out the same hotel that the convention did for their guests. We managed to snag a room before they all got booked, but now we just need a couple of agents to fill it,” said Steve.

“Let me guess: that’s us,” said Clint.

“If you’re both comfortable with it, of course,” Steve replied. “Two weeks of pretending to be a happy couple while scoping out the target and his bomb. The details are in these folders if you decide to go through with it.”

“I’m game,” said Clint with a shrug. “Pietro?”

Pietro gulped. Pretending to be madly in love with the man he was madly in love with? Easy. Except for the fact that he was supposed to be pretending. But what the hell? He had been itching for something exciting to do, and what could be more exciting than his first undercover mission? And having Clint, a seasoned assassin and spy, as his partner... that would be reason enough to do it, even if Pietro wasn’t head over heels thirsty for every moment in his presence.

“Sure,” he said. “When do we leave?”

“Five days,” said Steve. “Here are your briefings. Make sure to memorize every detail about your covers, as well as the information on your target.”

Pietro took the folder and looked inside. There was information about the event and their target, and a whole fake story about his and Clint’s fake relationship. Good thing Pietro was a decent liar; he would barely have to work to sell the being in love with Clint part, but pretending he had any sort of normal life was another thing altogether.

“You ready for this, kid?” Clint asked.

“You can’t call me ‘kid’, I’m your fake boyfriend now,” Pietro teased.

He had very purposely used the word “fake”, more as a reminder to himself than anything else. He wasn’t Clint’s boyfriend and he never would be, because Clint had a _girl_ friend and it was a miracle Natasha was letting him even do this mission. The job came first, he supposed. Natasha always did keep things professional.

“Oh right, I’m sorry, _honey_ ,” Clint teased back.

Despite the sarcastic emphasis, the pet name still managed to make Pietro’s heart flutter nervously again. God help him, maybe this would be harder than he thought.


	2. Well, This Is Awkward

The five days passed quickly, and before he knew it, Pietro was sitting on a plane with Clint, bound for Boston. There were about a hundred things making him nervous and apparently it showed, because Clint took his hand and gave it a squeeze. This only succeeded in making Pietro more nervous, of course.

“Do you not like flying?” Clint asked; a silly question since they had been in the quinjet together plenty of times and Pietro had been fine then.

“No, it’s not that, I just....” Pietro racked his brain for an excuse. “I’ve never been undercover before.”

“Don’t worry,” Clint said. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Pietro gave him a smile, which quickly turned into a look of shock as Clint leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“What?” said Clint, chuckling slightly. “Just getting into character.”

“Right. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting it.”

Pietro blushed and turned to look out the window.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Clint asked. “I won’t be offended if you’re not, it’s just... you seem a bit jumpy.”

Pietro sighed and turned back to him, giving him another smile.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I told you, I’m just nervous.”

“Okay, good. I’d hate to have to call Cap and tell him to bring us back the second we land in Boston.”

 

***

 

The hotel was quite easily one of the nicest places Pietro had ever been apart from Avengers Tower. When they got to their room, his jaw dropped. This wasn’t just a hotel room; Steve had booked them a fucking _suite_ , with fancy sofas and a little kitchen and holy shit the shower probably had two heads and a huge tub with jets or something. Clint grinned at the shocked expression on Pietro’s face.

“You gonna be okay?” he teased.

“It’s just... it’s so... everything’s so _nice_... I’m afraid to touch anything....”

Clint laughed and dropped his bag, then took Pietro by the arm and pulled him into the room.

“Lighten up, ya goof, this place is ours, we can touch _everything_ and nobody’s gonna give a fuck,” he said, standing on the sofa, shoes and all. “Well, I mean, the cleaning people might give a fuck if we trash the place, but we’re not gonna do that. So come on.”

He practically dragged Pietro up onto the sofa with him. Pietro grinned.

“We _are_ gonna be living here for two weeks,” he said. “Might as well make ourselves at home.”

“That’s the spirit!” said Clint. “Bet you can’t catch me!”

He leapt from the sofa to an armchair, flashing a playful smirk over his shoulder as he landed.

“Oh yeah?” Pietro challenged.

“No superpowers!” Clint said quickly, before Pietro could move. “And no touching the floor, either!”

“I bet I can still catch you, old man,” Pietro teased.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to say those sort of things now that we’re fake boyfriends,” Clint scolded.

“Whatever, sweetheart, I can still catch you no matter what I call you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Pietro jumped after him, and as he did, Clint jumped to the other sofa. It was probably a good thing that he did, because it was very unlikely they wouldn’t have both fit on the armchair and Pietro didn’t much feel like breaking the furniture five minutes after getting into the room. He followed Clint to the sofa, diving at his ankles to stop him from getting away. Clint tripped and keeled over, tumbling off the sofa onto the floor.

“Caught you,” said Pietro. “ _And_ you touched the floor.”

“Aw...”

Pietro and Clint caught each other’s eye and immediately burst out laughing. It was several minutes before they managed to stop.

“We are _never_ telling the others about that,” Clint panted.

“Nooo, we’d never hear the end of it.”

“I can hear Stark now... ‘You’re grown ass men, at least get drunk before you act like five year olds’...”

Pietro started laughing again, unable to help himself, accidentally rolling off the sofa and right onto Clint, their faces inches from each other. Pietro’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Hi there,” said Clint with a grin.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re gonna need to get used to being close to each other, might as well start with you straddling me.”

“It’s a bit awkward,” said Pietro.

“Maybe a little. Could be worse.”

“I’m gonna get up now.”

“Good idea.”

 

***

 

“Sooo, we’re sharing a bed.”

“Yeah, what’d you think we’d be doing?” 

Pietro didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a bed with Clint. He definitely really, really wanted to. It was just that the thought of actually sharing the bed with Clint made him extremely nervous. And then there was Clint, who seemed to be so comfortable with everything. Which somehow made Pietro even more nervous. 

“Of course we’re sharing a bed, I don’t know why I was surprised,” he said at last.

“Pietro, seriously, please tell me if you’re uncomfortable with this,” said Clint earnestly.

Dammit. Pietro really needed to relax.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Seriously. I’m just... tired. I’ll be fine in the morning. I promise.”

 

So much for being fine in the morning. Pietro woke up to find himself inexplicably cuddled up next to Clint. 

“Good morning,” said Clint. “This is rather a surprise.”

“Yeah, it’s a surprise for me to,” said Pietro, which was one hundred percent true.

“Um... Pietro...?

“Hm?”

“Please tell me that’s your knee...”

Pietro’s heart stopped and his eyes went wide. No, that was _not_ his knee.

“Shit.”

He rolled away from Clint, turning his back on him and getting as far across the bed as possible. His face was red with embarrassment, he could feel it. 

“It’s okay, you know. It happens,” Clint said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not fifteen anymore, it shouldn’t just be springing up like a daisy.”

Clint laughed.

“Kid, trust me, it still does that no matter how old you are,” he said. “Hell, I get a little turned on sometimes if I happen to be working out at the same time as Cap.”

“Seriously?” Pietro said, smirking and rolling back over to face him.

“Yeah seriously. You don’t even have to be attracted to guys to see that the dude is hot. Especially when he’s bench-pressing like four hundred pounds with his shirt off. Yeah, it’s embarrassing, but it can’t be helped.”

Clint had a point, but it didn’t solve Pietro’s problem. Because he _was_ attracted to guys, specifically the one sitting right in front of him who he’d just gotten a boner from _cuddling_. Not a good start to this fake-relationship and definitely not a good sign for the rest of the mission.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said.

“Good idea,” said Clint. “Don’t use up all the hot water.”

“In this place? I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”


	3. Could've Picked a More Romantic Spot

Once Pietro and Clint were both showered and dressed, they went downstairs to the lobby for breakfast. They technically could have made their own breakfast in their room, but part of their orders was to eat in the common area whenever possible so they could keep an eye on their target. Pietro joined Clint at the coffee machine and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Found him. He’s at a table by himself. Think we should join him?”

“Absolutely,” said Clint.

They took their coffee mugs and their plates and went to the table.

“Mind if we join you?” Clint asked.

“Go ahead,” said the man.

They sat down and after about a minute of silence, Clint turned to the man again.

“Sooo, your boyfriend still in bed or something?” he asked casually.

“What?”

“Oh, are you not here for Pride?” said Clint.

“No, I’m here for a business convention,” the man replied.

“Oh, sorry, the suit shoulda tipped me off. I’m Clint, by the way.”

“Charles,” said the man. “This your boyfriend?”

Pietro quickly swallowed his mouthful of toast.

“Yes, I am,” he said. “I’m Pietro.”

“Well, I’d better be off,” Charles said. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Clint called after him.

“He’s rather polite for a terrorist,” said Pietro.

“He’s acting, just like we are,” Clint muttered. “And rule number one about going undercover, if you’re gonna talk about terrorists, keep your voice down.”

 

***

 

The Pride event was in a park across the street from their hotel, so after breakfast, Pietro and Clint walked over, holding hands the whole time. Pietro could handle this holding hands thing, it was easy and casual and gave him minimum butterflies in the stomach (that wasn’t to say there weren’t any at all). It was literally any other kind of couple-y PDA that made him nervous, not because it was PDA specifically but because it was with Clint and, well, it was really hard pretending that he was pretending to be in love with him even without all the touching. 

The event itself was unlike anything Pietro had ever experienced. Everything was brightly colored and hundreds of couples milled about, completely at ease and comfortable with themselves and their partners. The whole situation felt foreign to him. 

Clint led him through the crowd, wandering among the booths handing out brochures and little flags or selling handmade products. They stopped at one of the booths and Clint struck up a conversation with the woman working it. Pietro was barely paying attention, gazing around at all the happy people. This event was called Pride for a reason, it was about being proud of who you were, and all these people walking around, waving their flags and holding hands, they _were_ proud. And somehow it made Pietro feel very small and out of place, because he _didn’t_ feel proud, he just felt scared.

“Pietro?”

He jumped slightly, jolted from his thoughts, and turned to Clint, who was watching him with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Pietro.

Clint sighed heavily. Clearly, Pietro was a worse liar than he thought. Clint led Pietro away and into the bathroom at the edge of the park. He checked that all the stalls were empty, then turned to face him.

“Okay, seriously kid, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, we can call this off,” he said.

“I’m not, I just...” Pietro sighed. “It’s just difficult, okay?”

“Look, I know it’s your first undercover mission...”

“It’s not that, it’s...” said Pietro. “It’s being _here_ , having to pretend...”

“What, that you’re gay?” said Clint. 

Pietro groaned in frustration, covering his face with his hands. Well, he was going to have to say it eventually, might as well do it now.

“I’m not straight,” he said.

“Oh. Okay,” said Clint.

He sounded almost pleasantly surprised, though Pietro couldn’t fathom why. 

“But I’m not gay either,” Pietro continued. “I like men, but I still like women too. Honestly, gender doesn’t make that much difference to me. I don’t even know what that means, I... being here, with all these people who _know_ who they are, who’ve known for ages... it’s hard for me. I was an orphan on the streets, I didn’t have access to all the stuff they do. I’ve spent half my life confused, thinking there was something wrong with me...”

Clint stepped forward and took Pietro’s face in his hands, looking him straight in the eye.

“Okay, first of all, there’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. “Second, we’re at a Pride event. They’ve got pamphlets and shit, we can pick up some of those, maybe they can help you figure stuff out. And third, you’ve got me. I want to help you, I want you to be comfortable. And not just for the mission. Because I care about you.”

Pietro smiled a little.

“Thanks,” he said.

Just then, the bathroom door opened and a few people walked in. Clint’s eyes flicked briefly to them, then back at Pietro. Then suddenly, they were kissing. Pietro only froze for a second before melting into it, letting his hands drift up to Clint’s waist. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Clint had pulled away and was taking Pietro’s hand, leading him back outside. Pietro sort of floated along beside him in a daze, absentmindedly reaching up with his free hand to touch his own lips.

“Was that your first kiss?” Clint asked, watching him.

Pietro blinked and snapped out of his trance, quickly dropping his hand to his side.

“Maybe...”

“It totally was,” said Clint. “Dude, I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you or something...”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s... it was, well.... nice,” said Pietro a little bashfully.

Clint smiled.

“Well, I’m, uh... glad you liked it,” he said.

Pietro smiled back at him and tightened his grip on Clint’s hand, feeling just a little more confident as they walked back into the rows of booths.


	4. Best. Undercover Mission. Ever.

That evening, Pietro sat on the sofa reading one of the pamphlets they had picked up, while Clint was at the table typing up a report for Steve and keeping an eye on the surveillance camera feeds that Tony had hacked for them. 

“I think I’m pansexual,” Pietro announced.

Clint looked up from the computer.

“That’s great,” he said.

“It just seems to... fit, y’know? Like, I read the description and it just made sense.”

Clint came over and looked over Pietro’s shoulder at the pamphlet. 

“See? I said you’d figure this out,” he said with a grin.

He ruffled Pietro’s hair and kissed his cheek, wrapping his arms around him from behind. 

“What are you doing?” Pietro said. 

Not that he was complaining.

“Staying in character,” said Clint, kissing Pietro’s neck now. “Might help us be more in character out in public, y’know.”

Clint continued kissing and sucking on his neck, and Pietro was struggling not to let on just how much he was enjoying it. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure the hickey you’re giving me will help dissuade anyone’s doubts,” he teased.

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” Clint said.

His hot breath tickled against Pietro’s skin as he spoke. Pietro closed his eyes, a little smile playing on his lips. He could get used to this, having Clint’s arms around him and his lips all over his skin. The trouble was, Pietro knew that he couldn’t get used to it; two weeks was just too short for that.

 

***

 

The next morning went very much the same as the one before. They woke up (thankfully without the awkward, boner-inducing cuddling), got ready, and went down for breakfast in the lobby. Charles the terrorist was once again sitting by himself, so Pietro and Clint once again joined him.

“Hello again,” Clint said cheerfully, sitting down at the table. “It’s Charles, right?”

Charles looked at him over the rim of his coffee mug for a moment, clearly irritated by their arrival.

“That’s right,” he said.

“How’s your convention thing going?” Pietro asked, following Clint’s lead in ignoring Charles’ less than friendly mood.

“Fine.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Can’t be nearly as much fun as ours, though,” said Clint, casually stealing some of Pietro’s bacon.

“Clearly,” Charles said.

He glanced rather conspicuously at the hickey Clint had left on Pietro’s neck last night. There was a hint of judgement in his expression that made Pietro blush, but Clint just gave him a self-satisfied smirk. 

“I should go. Have a nice day,” said Charles, standing rather abruptly.

He left before either of them could say another word.

“So much for ‘polite terrorist Charles’,” Clint muttered. 

“At least I managed to get the bug on his briefcase,” said Pietro. “It was close though.”

“Good. Tony’ll have the scans of what’s inside sent to us by the time we get home tonight.”

 

***

 

After breakfast, they returned to the park to wander among the booths, holding hands again. Pietro was already much more at ease than he had been the day before and it showed. They stopped at a booth selling a vast array of little flags. Clint bought one in the pansexual colors and handed it to Pietro. 

“To self-discovery,” he proclaimed, pressing the flag into Pietro’s hand.

Pietro took it and smiled, then gave Clint a kiss.

“Thank you,” he said.

He tucked the flag into his jeans pocket and they continued on their way.

 

Late that afternoon, Pietro and Clint sat on a bench eating ice cream and watching a band perform on a stage that had been set up in the middle of the field. Clint had his arm around Pietro’s shoulders, and Pietro was leaning ever so slightly against him, much more comfortable than he’d been yesterday, but still not willing to get too attached to this feeling.

“Y’know, this is probably the most enjoyable undercover mission I have ever been on,” Clint said. “Most of the time I just end up pretending I work for somebody or being a random dude in a crowd. But this... this is nice.”

“Everyone back home is probably talking about how I’m being spoiled, getting to do this for my first time undercover,” said Pietro.

“Oh, they _definitely_ are. I mean seriously. We’re in a fucking five-star suite, we get to go to what’s pretty much a two week long party, and all we’ve gotta do to not blow our cover is hold hands and make out. Hey, you wanna try some of my ice cream? The chocolate’s really good.”

“Sure.”

Clint held out his cone and Pietro took a lick, getting some on his nose.

“Here, I’ve got it,” said Clint.

He wiped it away with a paper napkin, then leaned in to kiss him. Pietro couldn’t help but smile as their lips met, cold and sweet from the ice cream. The music from the band drifted across the field to them, providing the soundtrack for their soft, lazy kisses. Okay, so sure, they had a countdown ticking away on how long this would last. But at the moment, Pietro really didn’t care.


	5. Everyone Knows When You're Faking

The second day of the event came to a close and the two of them returned to their hotel room. Just as Clint had predicted, Tony had sent them the scans from Charles’ briefcase, which turned out to have nothing in it but paperwork. So Pietro and Clint had the evening off. They were sitting on the sofa, Pietro flicking through the TV guide to see if there was a movie on and Clint reading one of the pamphlets they had picked up the day before.

“What if we had sex?” Clint said very suddenly.

Pietro stared at him a moment, a little more than taken aback by this suggestion. He glanced at the title of the pamphlet Clint was reading. _How’s Your Sex Life?_. Ah, that explained it. Sort of.

“What?” 

“Well, we’re supposed to be pretending to be a couple. Couples have sex,” said Clint. “Sometimes when people want everybody to think they’re banging, they’ll just, like, jump on the bed and yell a lot, but no one actually believes that shit. It’s never realistic.”

“So you think we should actually have sex for real, to convince our neighbors that we’re really an actual couple?” Pietro said.

“This may be a fancy hotel, but the walls _are_ pretty thin,” said Clint. “I could hear the girls next door singing duets in the shower the last two mornings.”

“So they’d definitely know if we _weren’t_ having sex,” said Pietro.

He couldn’t deny, having sex with Clint was something he wanted rather a lot. But this sort of felt like cheating, like it wasn’t the real thing. Speaking of cheating, there was another thing...

“What about Natasha?”

“She gave me permission to do anything and everything necessary to make everyone here think you and I are a real couple,” said Clint. 

“Seriously?” said Pietro, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s sort of a mutual agreement we have. She knows better than anyone the measures you’ve gotta take to keep a cover.”

Pietro hesitated again, but the temptation was more than he could handle. He still felt a little bit like he was taking advantage of Clint, but it _had_ been Clint who had suggested this, so he supposed it was okay, morality-wise.

“Sure. Let’s do it,” he said at last.

“Really?” said Clint.

“Yes, really.”

Clint grinned, which was a bit of a surprise.

“Okay, to the bedroom then!” 

They went to the bedroom, but Clint detoured to the bathroom the moment the door shut behind them.

“What are you doing?” Pietro called after him.

“Making sure we’ve got the necessary supplies,” Clint said. “Aha! This is one damn well-supplied hotel.”

He reappeared with a box of condoms and an unusually large bottle of lube, then set them on the nightstand.

“Ready?” 

“I think so,” said Pietro.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was extremely nervous.

“Wait, hang on,” said Clint. “Have you... have you even done this before?”

Apparently Pietro’s nervousness was more apparent than he’d thought.

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

“Hold up, you never kissed anyone until yesterday, but you’ve had sex?”

Pietro grimaced. Clint was smart, and it was clear by the look on his face that he had a pretty good guess as to the nature of Pietro’s sexual history. But Pietro would much rather avoid that topic, preferably forever and especially when he was about to have sex with the man he was secretly madly in love with.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he said. 

“Oh. Okay,” said Clint, sounding slightly skeptical. 

“Clint?” Pietro said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I, um... I don’t really have... _experience_.... so I... y’know...”

“That’s okay,” said Clint. “I’ll lead you through it.”

He took Pietro’s face in his hands and started kissing him. Pietro responded, his heart fluttering as it kept doing every time Clint had kissed him in the last two days. He let his hands wander under Clint’s shirt, brushing his palms over the tight muscles of his back. Clint’s lips trailed down Pietro’s jawline to his neck. A tiny moan escaped Pietro, and he felt a hot flush creep over his skin. Clint chuckled against Pietro’s throat and stopped to look at him.

“It doesn’t take much to turn you on, apparently,” he said. 

Pietro blushed, but he didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. Not when what he wanted more than anything right now was to have Clint’s lips all over his body.

“Take your clothes off,” he said, sounding more like he was begging than demanding.

“Bossy,” Clint teased.

“Please.”

“Only if you take yours off too.”

Pietro didn’t need telling twice. He pulled off his shirt and slipped out of his pants so quickly that Clint almost laughed. Clint stripped off his own clothes and Pietro’s breath hitched in his chest; Clint’s naked body was just as beautiful as he had imagined it would be, all tanned skin and lean muscle. Pietro was taken off guard as Clint backed him into the bed and fell backwards onto the mattress. Clint climbed up after him and pinned him down, kissing him and grinding against Pietro’s already hard cock. Pietro groaned, his fingers digging into Clint’s back as Clint worked his way down Pietro’s neck and chest to kiss his mark directly over his heart. 

“Fuck me,” Pietro gasped.

Clint stopped and looked at him in surprise.

“Really?”

“Please,” said Pietro. 

Clint grinned again and leaned down to kiss him again.

“Ask me again,” he murmured against Pietro’s lips. “Beg me.”

“Please fuck me,” Pietro pleaded. “I need you to.”

Clint reached over to the nightstand and got a condom, unwrapping it and putting it on.Then he grabbed the lube, preparing himself before setting to work loosening Pietro up. 

“Keep begging,” he said, slipping one finger inside.

“Please, Clint,” Pietro said. “I need you...”

“Good...” said Clint, adding a second finger.

Pietro whimpered; if he felt this good already, he was going to lose his mind when Clint began fucking him. 

“Please,” he gasped again.

Finally, Clint settled himself between Pietro’s legs and pushed himself inside. Pietro moaned as Clint slid himself farther in, excruciatingly slow, until he could go no further. Then he began to pull back again, just as slow as before.

“Faster,” Pietro begged.

Clint obeyed, but only by a fraction. Then a fraction more. Gradually he upped his speed as Pietro pleaded for more, taking Pietro’s cock in his hand and stroking it in time with his thrusts. Pietro gripped at the bedsheets, back arching as he reached his orgasm. A few thrusts later and Clint finished too. He pulled out and stripped off the condom, tossing it into the trash, before collapsing onto Pietro’s chest in exhaustion. 

“We should probably take a shower...” Clint said after a few minutes.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Pietro.

He was reluctant to get up, but they were both rather a mess, so he rolled off the bed and followed Clint into the bathroom. They stepped under the steaming water and began to clean up. After a few minutes of silence, Clint spoke up again.

“So, uh... was that okay?” he asked.

“It was definitely more than okay,” Pietro replied.

“I hope you didn’t mind that I got a bit bossy,” said Clint.

“I actually kind of liked it,” Pietro gave Clint a sly smirk. “I get to boss you around tomorrow, though.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that promise, Maximoff,” said Clint.

“Don’t worry, I will _not_ disappoint you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the dirtiest smut i've ever written, so bear with me, children....


	6. Pleasure and Priorities

Pietro woke up the next morning with Clint lying next to him, fast asleep with his arm draped over Pietro’s chest, both of them still completely naked. The first thought to cross his mind? 

_Oh God, what have I done?_

He had had _sex_. With Clint Barton. Who was in a happy relationship. Who he was secretly in love with. Who he could never actually have. _For a mission_. Surely there was some sort of protocol for this, surely there was some rule that said “don’t fuck your mission partner”. Of course, if there was, Clint would’ve known about it and this never would have happened. But it had happened, and Clint had been the one to suggest it, so they must not have broken any rules. Was it the best idea considering, well, everything? Probably not. But still. He had had sex with Clint Barton. And he really, _really_ wanted to do it again.

“G’morning,” Clint mumbled.

Pietro was jerked from his panicked thoughts. Clint was smiling at him in the most ridiculously sunshiny way, and it somehow managed to simultaneously chase away all his fears and increase them exponentially. Holy shit, he had it bad.

“Good morning,” he replied, returning the smile. “You sleep okay?”

“Like a baby,” said Clint. “I could probably sleep for like three more hours...”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got business to do,” said Pietro.

“Aw...”

Clint buried his face in Pietro’s chest and sighed heavily. Pietro rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me drag you out of bed,” he threatened.

Clint just groaned lazily in response.

“You asked for it,” said Pietro.

He wriggled out from underneath Clint and began pulling him out of bed until he fell onto the floor in a pile of blankets.

“Ow...” Clint mumbled, attempting to extricate himself from the blankets to no avail.

“You’re ridiculous,” said Pietro.

He knelt down next to Clint and kissed him on the cheek, then went to get dressed.

 

***

 

Their day was much the same as the previous two had been. Breakfast in the lobby (which once again included annoying Terrorist Charles). Spend the day at Pride. Eat ice cream on a bench. Return to the hotel at the end of the day. That evening, however, held much different plans. Pietro went to check their messages on the laptop once they got back to the room and found one from Steve.

“New orders, Clint,” he announced, opening the message. “Well, shit...”

“What is it?” asked Clint, coming to read over his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta bug his room.”

“Well, shit.”

“Apparently the convention is having a gala tonight, so he’ll be out late,” Pietro said, scanning over the message. 

“Good thing Tony got us access to all the hotel security cameras,” said Clint. “Let’s _National Treasure_ this bitch.”

“What?”

“ _National Treasure_. It’s a movie. Nicholas Cage, he steals the Declaration of Independence. Haven’t you seen it?” 

“Former street-rat, remember?”

“Right...” said Clint. “We have gotta get you caught up, kid. I swear to God you’re worse than Cap sometimes.”

 

***

 

“I’m three floors away,” Pietro announced, watching the numbers above the elevator door. “Two floors.... one floor.... you better have those cameras off, Barton...”

_Ding!_ The elevator doors slid open and Pietro stepped out into the corridor.

“Not only are you the fastest man on earth, but you are also invisible to the world of surveillance,” Clint said into the comm.

“Good, or this would get awkward real quick,” said Pietro.

He walked down the hall until he got to their target’s room. 

“You got the card?” Clint asked.

“Of course I’ve got the card. You asked me that at least twelve times in the elevator.”

Pietro took the key card he had stolen from the front desk out of his pocket and glanced briefly around to make sure the hall was deserted before unlocking the door. He stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind him.

“I’m in.”

“Okay, good. Now don’t linger, just place the bug and get the hell outta dodge,” said Clint.

“I _know_ , you told me...”

“Sorry.”

Pietro took the bugging device from his pocket and stuck it to the back of the nightstand.

“Bug is placed,” he said.

“Okay... aaaand, I’ve got transmission,” said Clint. “Now get your little ass back up here and make good on that promise from last night.”

Pietro smirked and started for the door.

“Oh shit,” said Clint suddenly.

“What?”

“He’s coming back. He’s walking down the hallway to his room. Please tell me you’re out of there already.”

“I’m not.”

“Fuck... fuckfuckfuckfuck.....”

“Clint, it’s okay,” said Pietro. “Fastest man alive, remember? I’ll just run out when he opens the door. He won’t even see me.”

“Okay,” said Clint. “Just be _careful_. And for the love of God, don’t bump him.”

Pietro was fully aware of just how destructive he could be running into anyone at top speed, so he didn’t need telling twice. He hid just around the corner from the door and waited, poised to run the moment the door opened. The lock clicked and the door swung wide and Pietro darted through, causing the slightest breeze to ruffle Charles’ hair. He didn’t stop until he reached the elevator. He hit the button impatiently, glancing back to make sure Charles had gone into his room.

“Did you make it?” Clint asked. “Did he notice? Pietro, answer me, dammit.”

“Shh,” Pietro hissed.

The elevator doors slid open and he hurried inside, pommeling the close button.

“Pietro?” Clint said again.

“I made it. I don’t think he noticed me.”

“You don’t _think_?”

“I may have made a bit of a breeze,” Pietro admitted. “But his window was open, so hopefully he’ll just brush it off.”

“Jesus Christ... that was way too close,” said Clint.

“You weren’t the one stuck in the terrorist’s hotel room,” said Pietro.

“Yeah, well, I was convinced for like twelve seconds there that you were gonna get shot again so if I get a stress ulcer it’s your fault.”

“Why do you always have to bring up me getting shot?”

“It was upsetting, okay?” said Clint.

“I’m getting out of the elevator, we’ll continue this conversation when I get to the room.”

“Fine...”

Pietro stepped out into the hallway and walked to their room as casually as if he’d just been out for a stroll rather than breaking into a terrorist’s hotel room. He opened the door and went inside, letting out an enormous sigh of relief.

“That was stressful,” he said.

He removed the comm from his ear and tossed it onto the table where Clint was still sitting at the laptop before flopping down onto the sofa. Clint got up and came over, straddling Pietro and leaning down to kiss him.

“Sooo... about that promise you made...” he said, smirking sinfully.

“You are so needy,” said Pietro.

The truth was, Pietro was needy too. He wanted so badly to take Clint back to their bedroom and fuck him senseless. But he didn’t want Clint to know just how much he wanted it. They were supposed to be pretending, after all. Clint was just very dedicated to the craft of undercover work, apparently...

“You promised, y’know,” said Clint.

He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip and everything. Pietro laughed and pushed him off, getting to his feet.

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” he said. “I told you I wouldn’t disappoint you, and I don’t plan to.”

 

Pietro was true to his word and more. He left a trail of hickeys down Clint’s chest, then teased him until he begged to be fucked. To which Pietro gladly complied. He held Clint’s hands down as he fucked him so neither of them could touch Clint’s cock, driving Clint mad with the need for satisfaction. Pietro finally came and pulled out, giving Clint a mischievous grin before slinking back and taking him into his mouth. Clint gasped in pleasure and his now free hands tangled themselves in Pietro’s hair, gripping fistfuls of the white-blond locks. A little moan escaped unbidden from Pietro’s throat at the sensation, which he found unexpectedly erotic. Clint was so close already that it didn’t take long before he came. Pietro swallowed and crawled back up to give Clint a kiss. Then he flopped down onto the mattress and curled up against Clint’s side.

“Damn, kid, you really delivered,” Clint said breathlessly.

Pietro smiled and nuzzled his face into Clint’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said.

“Speaking of which,” said Clint. “You seemed to get a bit of a kick outta me pulling your hair.”

Pietro blushed.

“Yeah, I, uh... wasn’t expecting that...”

“You kinky lil bastard,” Clint teased.

He ran his hands through the messy white locks again, sending a pleasant chill up Pietro’s spine. Pietro sighed contentedly. Clint chuckled.

“What?” Pietro said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, nothing,” said Clint, giving him another of those self-satisfied smirks. “I just think I found one of your pleasure points is all.”

He continued stroking his hair, and Pietro practically melted, his eyes drooping shut, a dazed smile on his face. He might as well be purring. Clint chuckled again.

“I rest my case.”


	7. Slow Down, Kiddo

Was it possible to fall even more madly in love with someone you were already madly in love with? Apparently so. And Pietro was completely and utterly screwed. Every touch, from the most casual brushing of shoulders to feeling Clint’s body pressed against his in bed, sent bolts of lightning to his heart. Every look made his head spin. Every word Clint said, even the most sarcastic remarks, filled his head and stayed there as though they were the most important words in the world. Yeah, Pietro was definitely screwed. There was no saving him now. He was absolutely, irretrievably in love with Clint Barton and he didn’t know what to do.

 

He woke up on the fourth morning of their mission, still naked from the night before and curled up in Clint’s arms. His first thought was of how much he liked this feeling. His second was _dear God, not again_. Was he to be cursed with this panic every morning he found himself naked and ravaged next to Clint until the end of the mission? Considering how much he had enjoyed the last two nights and the fact that, for the most part, he didn’t exactly regret it, he really hoped the panicked mornings-after would dwindle out.

Clint was still asleep, so Pietro gingerly extracted himself from his embrace and went to take a shower. He turned on the faucet and just stood under the hot water for a moment, closing his eyes and letting it sooth away the tension in his muscles. Damn, he was tense and hadn’t even realized it. They’d only been on this mission three days and he was feeling it. And it wasn’t even because they were spying on a dangerous terrorist who almost caught him bugging his hotel room. It was because of this damn charade he was having to put on, pretending he wasn’t already in love with Clint so that Clint would think he was just pretending. Like he was supposed to be doing. 

But it was hard, because Clint was just too damn good at his job, and there had been several times already when Pietro almost forgot that all of this was fake and Clint wasn’t his actual boyfriend and they’d be back to being just teammates in a week and a half. The fact that they were having sex wasn’t helping, and part of Pietro knew he should probably put an end to that before he got himself more hurt than he inevitably was going to be, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to stop. 

He didn’t realize just how long he had been standing idly under the water until Clint shuffled into the bathroom and poked his head around the shower curtain.

“Morning,” he yawned. “Mind if I join?”

“Sure,” said Pietro.

He mentally kicked himself the moment the word fell from his mouth. Showering with Clint was hardly going to make his situation easier. But it was too late. Clint had already stepped in, sliding up into Pietro’s space to join him under the flow of water. They were standing incredibly close, and Pietro had to remind himself of how silly it was for him to feel awkward about it when he had literally had his dick up Clint’s ass the night before. Still, more to keep himself from getting a hard-on from mere proximity than anything, he quickly turned away to grab the shampoo bottle.

 

***

 

As usual, they went down to the lobby for breakfast once they were dressed and joined Charles’ table. He seemed even more irritated by their presence than he had the previous three mornings, which wasn’t exactly surprising since neither of them made any attempt to not be obnoxious. If anything, they were purposely trying to bother him, though they had never actually discussed this as a tactic and honestly the only outcome it potentially had was to put them on a hitlist. While Clint tried to chat with Charles, Pietro let his spoon fall under the table and crawled down to fetch it, sneaking a tracker onto Charles’ shoe in the process. When he resurfaced, Clint had stolen his bacon again. He rolled his eyes, snatched the half-eaten slice from Clint’s hand, and ate the rest of it before Clint could protest. A moment later, Charles stood abruptly and left without a word.

“Good-bye!” Clint called after him.

“How rude,” Pietro remarked.

“Well, he _is_ a terrorist,” said Clint. “Did you do it?”

“Yup. As long as he keeps wearing those shoes all week, we’ll be able to watch everywhere he goes.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on his shoes the last couple mornings, I’m pretty sure those are the only ones he packed,” said Clint.

“You are much better at spying than me,” said Pietro.

“I’ve had a lot more practice.”

 

***

 

The day went smoothly and all too fast, and before they knew it, they were back in their hotel room. Pietro sat at the computer, looking over the data from the tracker and the bug in Charles’ room while Clint hovered over his shoulder.

“Sooo,” Clint said, kissing his neck. “What d’you say we finish up here and go steam up some windows?”

Pietro wanted to so badly. But he knew he really shouldn’t, for his own sake. He was setting himself up for heartbreak enough as it was. 

“Not tonight,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as defeated as he felt. “I’m not feeling all that great, I’ve... got a bad headache...”

“Oh. That’s okay,” said Clint. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good. Here, lemme get you something.”

He went and got a glass of water and some Advil and set them on the table in front of Pietro, then stood behind him again and started gently massaging his head. Pietro sighed and let his body relax.

“That better?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Take that Advil and send Cap the mission report. Then we can watch a movie or something.”

Pietro finished typing up the last few sentences of the report and hit send, then took the Advil Clint gave him. He doubted it would do much harm taking painkillers when he didn’t actually need them, especially since his heightened metabolism would just burn it off in the next half hour. Clint took his hand and led him to the sofa. They sat down and started flipping through the channels. Eventually they found some action movie that Clint said was good and started watching it. Pietro laid his head in Clint’s lap, letting Clint stroke his hair. Pietro wasn’t sure why they were doing this. There was no one there to see, no one to convince, but still they were acting like a couple. And it felt so _natural_. Like this was how they were supposed to be. Maybe Clint was sitting there pretending it was Natasha’s hair he was stroking. Pietro didn’t know. He closed his eyes and sighed, not even aware that he was drifting off to sleep.


	8. Wasting Water

Pietro woke up the next morning in bed with no idea how he got there. The last thing he remembered was lying on the sofa with Clint, watching a movie. He looked over at where Clint lay, still fast asleep.  _Oh_ . Clint must have carried him to bed. How he’d managed it was a mystery; Pietro was an inch taller than Clint and not exactly light. But it wasn’t the how that mattered. All that mattered was the fact that it had happened and it really wasn’t helping Pietro’s case at all.

He got up, careful not to wake Clint, and went to the bathroom to take a shower. He stood under the water, resting his forehead against the tile wall, frustrated with himself. He simply could not get Clint out of his mind. He was always there, drifting between every thought, no matter what Pietro was doing. His eyes, his smile, the feel of their lips pressed together and their naked bodies...

_Oh God._

His whole body felt hot, and it wasn’t just the water. And fuck, he was hard enough to cut glass. Pietro squeezed his eyes shut, but all that did was flash the imagine of Clint’s naked body against the backs of his eyelids. Dammit. Well, he might as well roll with the punches that his stupid, horny brain was throwing at him. Hesitantly, he took himself in hand and began slowly stroking, relishing the sensation. A pleasurable moan escaped him unbidden.

“Need a little help in there?”

Pietro was so alarmed that he slipped, barely catching himself, but not before elbowing the wall and knocking over the shampoo bottles.

“Ow...”

Clint’s head poked around the curtain.

“You okay?” he asked.

His eyes dropped from Pietro’s startled face to his erect penis. Pietro blushed, but Clint just smirked.

“Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

“I.... what?”

Clint looked Pietro in the eye and licked his lips in a highly suggestive way. Pietro’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Um... okay,” he said.

Clint smiled and stepped into the shower. He placed his hands on Pietro’s hips and kissed him, then lowered himself to his knees, taking Pietro into his mouth. Pietro gasped and had to grip the wall for support. The things Clint was doing with his tongue... he was going at it as though sucking Pietro off was the only activity on earth that mattered, and good lord did he even have a gag reflex? The man choked on water regularly, but he could deep-throat Pietro’s dick like nobody’s business. Pietro’s other hand found its way into Clint’s hair, tangling his fingers in the short brown locks. At last, Pietro reached his orgasm, coming into Clint’s mouth. Clint swallowed and pulled back, placing a swift kiss on Pietro’s toned stomach before standing up. 

“How was that?” he asked, smiling at the dazed look on Pietro’s face.

“That was amazing,” Pietro panted.

Clint leaned forward and kissed him. Pietro could still taste himself on Clint’s tongue; it was an odd sensation that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with, though it certainly wasn’t unpleasant. He broke away, letting his hands drift down Clint’s torso.

“Do you want me to...?”

“No,” said Clint, firmly but gently. “I did that for you. I don’t want anything out of it. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

Pietro looked at him, a strange feeling in his chest. He wasn’t used to this. People never did things for him just because they wanted to, without trying to get something in return. There was always a catch, always something they wanted out of him. “We’ll let you sleep in our barn, but you have to do all that hard labor we’ve been avoiding”, “We’ll give you powers, but you have to fight for us and not complain when we make you our plaything”. But not Clint. All he wanted was to make Pietro feel good, to make him happy. 

“Thank you,” he said at last, much softer than he meant to.

“You’re getting weirdly emotional over a blowjob, you know,” said Clint.

“Not many people have done nice things for me just because.”

Clint smiled sadly and kissed Pietro on the forehead, then pulled him into a hug. Pietro buried his face in Clint’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his wet skin. They stood there for a while, the shower still spraying water down on their heads.

“We are gonna be so late for breakfast,” Clint said finally.

Pietro chuckled and straightened up.

“Charles is probably thinking he gets to eat in peace today,” he said.

Clint grinned mischievously.

“Well, we can’t have that!”


	9. Drunk In Love

 

His morning may have started on a high note, but as the day went on, Pietro found himself getting more and more worked up over what he was now referring to as his “Clint problem”. By the time evening fell and they returned to their hotel room, he was so stressed out he could barely sit still. He was lying on the couch while Clint sent Steve the latest report, when it finally became too much. 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he announced, standing up very abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Clint asked.

“For a run. I need to move, get some fresh air...”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“Always am,” said Pietro, slipping on his shoes and heading for the door.

“No you’re not,” Clint said.

“Whatever.”

 

Pietro decided to take the stairs down to the lobby. Once he was outside, he walked for a while until he found himself on an empty street, then took off at full speed. This was exactly what he needed. He’d had too much energy built up inside him, and he’d just needed to burn it off. He felt almost ridiculously relaxed considering how much he was exerting himself, and he was sure that he would feel one hundred percent back to normal when he got back to the hotel. But he didn’t. He slowed down to a walk about a block from the hotel, and by the time he reached the lobby, he was back to feeling freaked out about Clint. He took a moment to lean against a pillar, catching his breath, when his eyes fell on the hotel bar. Okay. If running hadn’t worked, maybe it was time for desperate measures. 

The bar had a rather ritzy atmosphere to it that made Pietro feel underdressed in his jeans and hoodie. He went to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered himself the cheapest but strongest cocktail on the menu. There weren’t many people in the bar, so the bartender came over and leaned against the counter after making him his drink.

“You look rather bummed out,” she commented. “Girlfriend dump you or something?”

Pietro laughed humorlessly and sipped his drink.

“Worse. I’m in love with someone I can’t have,” he said.

“Ooh, that does suck,” the woman said. “She got a boyfriend?”

“No, _he_ has a _girl_ friend.”

“Oh. _Ohhh_ , I shoulda realized, sorry, the Pride thing going on... I mean, no offense, but you don’t exactly look like one of those suit-n-tie weapons guys here for the conference or whatever...”

“None taken, I know I don’t,” said Pietro. 

“So, tell me about this guy. What’s he like?” the woman asked.

Pietro sighed.

“Well for starters, he’s unbelievably hot,” he said. “He doesn’t always smile a lot, but when he does... God, he’s got the most beautiful smile. His eyes just light up.... it’s like the stars. And his arms, don’t get me started on those.”

“Sounds like quite a looker.”

“Oh, he is,” said Pietro. “But that’s not even the best part. He’s just such a good man. He’s funny and smart and brave. He’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever known. He’s kind of a human train wreck, to be honest, but to me it just makes him all the more perfect. Perfectly imperfect... Can I have another of these?”

He held up his empty glass.

“You sucked that down pretty quick,” the bartender teased.

“Yeah well, I plan to get drunk tonight and it takes a lot for that to happen,” Pietro said.

She laughed and took his glass.

“You hold that thought and I’ll be back in a sec.”

She made him another drink and returned to the bar.

“So, what about his girlfriend, what’s she like? Annoying, tacky whore?” she asked.

“No, not at all. She’s actually great,” said Pietro. “I like her a lot, I just... it’s complicated.”

“I’ve got all night, and you’ve got a lot of booze to drink apparently, so I don’t mind.”

Pietro chuckled.

“You might mind if I told you all of it,” he said. “Not to mention, quite a few people would be after my ass if I said everything.”

“Blackmail material?” the bartender asked.

“More like top secret shit that could definitely get people killed.”

“Okay, well, leave that shit out.”

“Okay,” said Pietro. He emptied his glass again and waited for the bartender to refill it before beginning. “We work together, the three of us. It’s a, uh... unusual line of work. Bit dangerous. Okay, really dangerous. I nearly died when I first started.”

“Oh my God!” the bartender gasped. “What happened?”

“I was... well, I was protecting him. The man I’m in love with now.”

“Wow...”

“That was sort of when it started,” Pietro continued. “Okay, it may have been a little bit sooner than that. But anyway. When I was recovering, he’d come to visit me, and we’d just talk... that was when I first knew that maybe I was a little in love with him. At first I thought I’d get over it, that it was just a little crush. I _wanted_ that to be all it was. But no. It’s been spiraling out of control ever since and now I’m so in love with him that I can’t even breathe without thinking of him.”

“Damn,” the bartender said. “I’d say you’ve got it bad, dude, but I’m almost a little jealous. I’ve never loved anyone that much... and no one’s ever loved me that much either. That’s the kind of feeling most people only dream about. Want another drink?”

“Yes please.”

She refilled his glass yet again.

“I never dreamed about it,” said Pietro, taking a sip of his drink. “Why would anyone dream about feeling like this? I feel awful. If he was in love with me too, then I’m sure it’d be amazing, but right now I just feel miserable. And my current situation isn’t helping either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, for our line of work, we sometimes have to pretend to be people we’re not,” Pietro explained; he was definitely feeling the effects of drinking all that alcohol so quickly. “And right now, he and I are stuck pretending to be a couple. Yeah, that’s right. I have to fake being in love with the man I’m in love with. And he’s pretending to be in love with me too. We’re doing _everything_ , holding hands, kissing, we’re even _fucking_ so the neighbors don’t suspect anything. Hell, I don’t even know if they’re listening. Do you have any idea how hard it is having sex with someone you’re trying not to be in love with? I should stop, but I can’t. I want it too bad, and I have horrible impulse control. I’m just a disaster and he’s too pretty and I don’t know what to do.”

Pietro groaned and buried his face in his arms, knocking over his (thankfully empty) glass.

“What the hell are you doing?” said a very familiar voice behind him.

Pietro looked up and turned around, nearly sliding off the stool as he did. Clint was standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Pietro groaned again and went back to burying his face in his arms. He really, really hoped Clint hadn’t heard any of what he’d just said.

“I thought you went for a run,” said Clint.

“I did,” Pietro said, his voice muffled.

“Why are you drunk?”

“Because I drank a lot of alcohol.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” said Clint.

“I can’t help it, I’m drunk.”

Clint sighed heavily and suddenly Pietro found himself being dragged from the stool.

“Heyyy,” he complained; oh God, now that he was on his feet, he realized just how drunk he was. “Wait, I didn’t pay yet and she’s nice...”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said Clint. 

He took out his wallet and handed the bartender a handful of cash.

“No, you don’t have to pay for me, I can do it...”

Clint ignored him and led him out of the bar and to the elevator.

“Cliiiint, stop it, I can take care of myself,” Pietro said, nearly falling over as the elevator jolted into motion.

“Kid, you’re shitfaced,” said Clint. “Stop whining and let me get you to bed.”

“Fine,” Pietro huffed.

“Why were you even getting drunk? You know we’ve got a mission to do.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you, and because we’ve got a job to do, and you can’t do that job if you’re falling over drunk,” said Clint.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. 

“I’m fine, Clint, I swear,” said Pietro.

He took one step out of the elevator and bolted right into the opposite wall at top speed.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?!” Clint exclaimed, rushing to his side.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Pietro, rubbing his forehead.

“What the hell happened?”

“I forgot...”

“What, that you have superpowers?”

“Yeah... my head hurts...”

“Well, no shit,” said Clint. “Come on, let’s get back to the room and I’ll get you some ice.”

Clint shepherded him back to the room and sat him on the couch, then went to the freezer to get an ice pack. By the time he returned, Pietro was crying for no reason whatsoever (well, maybe there was a little bit of a reason, but he wasn’t gonna say it to Clint, now was he?).

“Oh God,” said Clint in a panic. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Pietro. 

“You don’t know why you’re crying?”

“No, I’m just crying, I dunno why...”

“You are a really pathetic drunk, you know that?” said Clint.

“Do you have the ice?” Pietro asked.

Clint held out the ice pack and Pietro took it, pressing it to the lump already forming on his head.

“Okay... so do you wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or do you really not know why you’re crying?” Clint asked.

Pietro just shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

“I know you a lot better than you think, Pietro,” said Clint. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Why did you go and get drunk tonight?”

“I dunno, I just... I’m tired...”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?” said Pietro. “Can we go to bed now?”

Clint sighed.

“Okay. I won’t push. Come on, buddy.”

He took Pietro by the arm and helped him to his feet, leading the way to their bedroom. They both undressed and got into bed. Pietro looked over at Clint, who was wearing nothing but his boxers, and felt his heart ache. He couldn’t handle this, and his already poor impulse control was even worse with so much alcohol in his system. He huddled up close to Clint and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, his hand sliding down Clint’s torso toward the waistband of his boxers.

“Whoa there, kid, what are you doing?” said Clint, grabbing Pietro’s wandering hand.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Pietro said, trying to kiss him again. “You wanted to last night, why is tonight any different?”

“Because you’re drunk,” said Clint firmly. “You don’t know what you’re doing, we’ll both regret it in the morning, and besides that it’s just plain wrong.”

“How is it wrong? I want to do it, so why not?”

“I told you, Pietro, you’re drunk. You’re not thinking right, and I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

“It’s not like you’d be the first,” said Pietro.

The words had just slipped out, he was too inebriated to stop them. Clint stared at him, looking as though he wasn’t sure whether to cry or be sick. Pietro had just enough sobriety left in him to start scooting himself back to his own side of the bed.

“Sorry, I’ll just... go to sleep now...” he mumbled.

Clint grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving away any further.

“Who did that to you? Was it Hydra?” he asked, his voice frighteningly quiet.

“Yeah...”

He felt the lump returning to his throat, and this time he definitely knew why he was crying. Clint pulled him into his arms and held him close.

“God, Pietro, I’m so sorry...” he whispered.

“It’s fine... I’ll be fine...” 

Pietro buried his face in Clint’s chest, feeling remarkably at peace in his arms. Slowly, he was able to calm down, lying there with Clint stroking his hair until they both fell asleep.

 


	10. Didn't See That Coming

 

Pietro woke up the next morning in an empty bed. His head hurt a bit, but he was pretty sure that would clear up soon enough. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, he noticed the smell of food wafting in through the bedroom door. He got out of bed and pulled on a jacket over his bare chest before shuffling out into the rest of the suite. Clint was in the kitchen, making pancakes, and looked over when Pietro came in.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he said brightly. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse,” said Pietro, sitting at the table. “Look, I’m sorry about last night...”

Clint piled the pancakes onto two plates and brought them over to the table, setting one in front of Pietro and then sitting down across from him with the other.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “But I would still like to know why you decided it was a good idea to get drunk on the exact same night I found the bomb.”

“You found the bomb?” said Pietro, pouring a little too much syrup onto his pancakes.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement, but I couldn’t report the damn thing to Cap ‘cause you were off getting hammered and I had to save your ass. Luckily, it’s not set to go off ‘til tonight so we got time.”

“Sorry...”

“Kid, I told you, don’t don’t have to apologize,” said Clint through a mouthful of pancakes. “All I ask is that you explain yourself.”

Pietro sighed, taking an unnecessarily large bite of food to stall just a little while longer.

“If I tell you the truth... well.... I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me,” he said.

“Pietro, if it’s because you’ve got some sort of issues... like, if you’re an alcoholic or something... I’m not gonna think any less of you,” said Clint. “You’re my friend, I care about you. If that’s the case, I just wanna help.”

“I almost wish that was what it was, it would be much easier to explain...”

“Then what _is_ the truth? I just wanna help you.”

“This mission... it hasn’t been easy for me,” said Pietro slowly. “And not because it’s my first undercover mission like I keep telling you. It’s been difficult because... and this is gonna sound way worse than it is, but I don’t know how else to say it... it’s been difficult because of you.”

Clint looked even more hurt and confused than Pietro expected.

“It’s not because I don’t like working with you, or that I don’t like you,” he continued. “It’s completely the opposite. It’s that I like you too much, and–”

“What, you’re worried us pretending to be lovers will ruin our friendship?” Clint asked.

“No, I–”

Pietro groaned in frustration and buried his face in his hands. 

“Pietro, I don’t understand,” said Clint.

“Pretending to be your boyfriend is hard for me because I wish it _wasn’t_ pretend,” said Pietro. “Because I _love_ you.”

Clint stared at him.

“Really?” he said.

“Yes, really,” said Pietro, tears in his eyes. “I wish I didn’t, but I do. I love you, Clint.”

“Pietro, I... I didn’t think...”

“What, that all this meant so much more to me? That I actually _wanted_ all of the things we’ve done this week, that I wanted it to be real?”

“No, that’s not what I meant... I just... I didn’t realize...”

“Oh God, I’ve ruined everything...” Pietro groaned.

“No, you didn’t,” said Clint. “You’ve made everything perfect. A lot more complicated, sure, but perfect.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I love you too, Pietro.”

Now it was Pietro’s turn to stare. This had to be some cruel joke. Or a dream. Or... something.

“What?”

“I love you,” said Clint.

“But...” Pietro protested.

“I love you, Pietro. I’ve wanted to say it so many times. _I love you_ ,” said Clint.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

Clint and Pietro stared at each other, then turned in the direction of the new voice. Tony Stark was smirking at them from the screen of the open laptop, surrounded by the rest of the Avengers.

“How long have you been watching?” Pietro asked tentatively.

“Long enough,” said Tony.

“And what exactly did you mean, ‘it’s about time’?” said Clint.

“What he meant was that you two are the biggest pair of oblivious idiots to walk the earth,” Sam said.

“Why do you think I assigned you two for this mission?” Steve asked.

“Because you needed someone to pose as a gay couple to catch a terrorist?” said Pietro.

“But I could’ve asked _anyone_ on the team to do that. Hell, I could’ve done that,” said Steve. 

“Didn’t it ever cross your minds that your covers seemed a little bit off, like maybe you’d have been more useful posing as hotel staff or something?” Natasha asked.

“It did once, but then I figured Steve knew what he was doing so I didn’t question it,” Clint admitted.

“Well, I _did_ know what I was doing, but it wasn’t trying to catch a terrorist,” said Steve.

“What?” Pietro and Clint said in unison.

“This whole mission was a setup,” said Tony. “Trying to get you two blockheads to stop pining hopelessly.”

“I wasn’t _pining_ ,” Clint protested.

“Yes you were,” said Natasha.

“You guys are a lot more blockheaded than we expected though,” said Sam. “I mean, we assumed you’d at least wait ‘til you worked things out before getting it on, but okay...”

Pietro and Clint exchanged an alarmed look.

“How did you know about that?” said Pietro.

“We’re connected, remember?” Wanda said.

“Oh God...”

“Um... exactly how much of what he’s doing can you actually _see_...?” Clint asked nervously.

“I give him his privacy,” said Wanda. “Trust me, I don’t want to see any of that.”

“This is embarrassing...” said Pietro.

“So, why are you even calling?” Clint asked, steering the conversation back to less awkward waters. “Is something up?”

“Well, we _were_ gonna make some shit up for you two to follow around, but looks like we don’t need to do that anymore. Mission accomplished!” said Tony.

“Wait, so there _was_ no mission?” said Clint.

“Nope.”

“But what about the bomb?” Pietro said.

“There isn’t one,” Steve replied.

“Yes, there is,” said Clint. “I was watching the cams last night, I found it.”

The others looked at each other, genuinely surprised.

“Send over the info,” said Natasha.

Clint opened up a message and sent it all over.

“Shit...” Sam muttered. “Looks like you guys have got some work to do after all.”

“Time to suit up, lovebirds,” said Steve.

“I’ll be on the comms to talk you through defusing the bomb once you get to it,” said Tony. “Better get a move on.”

“Wait,” said Pietro suddenly. “Natasha... what about you?”

“What about me?” Natasha said.

“You and Clint...”

“You guys were at a Pride event, would it kill you to pick up a brochure?” said Natasha. “I’ve thought a lot about this, I promise, but we’re gonna have to talk about it later. You’ve got a bomber to stop, remember?”

“Right..”

“I love you, Nat,” said Clint.

“I know. I love you too. Now go suit up,” said Natasha.

“The comms are set up, I’ll talk to you in a bit,” said Tony.

“Good luck,” Wanda said.

Then they hung up. Pietro and Clint looked at each other.

“Well, I guess we’d better get ready,” said Pietro.

“Yeah... Jesus, I can’t believe this whole thing was a setup,” Clint said.

“And that the fake mission turned out to be a real one,” said Pietro. “And another thing, how did _they_ all know we were in love with each other and _we_ didn’t?”

“Because Sam was right. We’re oblivious idiots.”

 


	11. Definitely Not the Bomb Squad

 

Pietro and Clint took the elevator down to the basement, taking advantage of the wait to make out against the wall. Not exactly professional superhero behavior, but who was going to stop them? They’d just professed their love for each other and now they were going off to disable a bomb and assassinate a terrorist, it was only fair they got a little time in just in case they got blown up. Finally, the elevator came to a halt and they broke apart.

“Time to go save the world,” said Clint breathlessly.

“Or just the hotel,” Pietro said.

“You guys do realize I could hear all your little happy noises for the last three minutes, right?” Tony said into the comms.

Pietro and Clint exchanged an embarrassed look.

“Sorry,” said Clint.

“I’m not,” said Pietro.

“Whatever, just go find that bomb,” said Tony.

They got out of the elevator and started down the narrow corridor. Soon they reached a short flight of stairs leading to a heavy metal door. Pietro tried the doorknob and found it surprisingly unlocked. As they stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind them, followed by a loud click. Clint checked the knob again.

“It locked itself,” he said. “We’re locked in.”

“Fantastic,” said Pietro.

“Well, let’s find that bomb, I guess. Stark, you with us?” Clint said. “Stark?”

There was no answer.

“Stark?” Pietro said.

Still nothing.

“Dammit, the comms are down. Must be some interference or something...” said Clint.

“What are we going to do now once we find it? Neither of us knows how to disable a bomb.”

“Maybe there’s an off switch...”

They searched the room and quickly found the bomb, hidden behind some crates. There was a digital countdown clock on the front and it was already running. There were three minutes left.

“Shit,” said Clint, frantically inspecting the bomb. “Shit shit shit... there’s no off switch. Stark? Stark!?”

Still no answer. Pietro felt sick to his stomach, his heart racing in panic.

“This was a bad idea...” he said.

“Getting locked in a basement with a bomb? No shit,” said Clint.

“No, I mean... me. And a bomb. I don’t do well with bombs.”

Pietro’s panic was escalating.

“Does anyone?” Clint said.

“Clint, I hid under a bed for two days waiting to get killed by a bomb when I was ten,” Pietro said. “I _really_ do not do well with bombs.”

“ _Oh_.”

“And now it’s happening again... how many times do I have to sit around waiting to die because of Tony fucking Stark?” 

“You called?” 

The comms were back up.

“Oh thank God!” said Clint. “Stark, the bomb is gonna go off in one minute and Pietro’s having a panic attack, tell me how to disable this fucking thing right now.”

“Okay, okay,” said Tony. “You see the panel in the front? Take that off.”

“Okay, now what?”

“There should be a red button. Just push it and you’re good.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why, is something wrong?”

“No, I just thought it would be more complicated than that.”

Clint pushed the button. Pietro let out a sigh of relief.

“Shit,” said Clint.

“What?” said Pietro.

“It didn’t work. It didn’t fucking work.”

Pietro looked at the countdown timer. Twenty seconds.

“That should have worked,” said Tony. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Clint...”

Pietro grabbed Clint’s arm, and Clint pulled him close. Fifteen seconds.

“I love you,” Pietro whispered.

“I love you too.”

Ten seconds. 

“I’m sorry...” Tony said, his voice cracking.

“It’s not your fault, Stark,” said Clint.

Five seconds.

Pietro buried his face in Clint’s shoulder, bracing himself for the explosion. But it never came. Slowly, Pietro lifted his head and turned to look at the timer. It had gone blank. 

“How...?”

“Did you do something?” Clint asked.

“I haven’t touched it. Did you?” said Pietro.

“No.”

“Then how the hell...?”

“I have no idea.”

“Y-you’re alive?” said Tony. “You didn’t blow up?”

“Surprisingly, no,” said Pietro.

Tony laughed in relief.

“Let’s get the hell out of this basement,” said Clint.

They turned to leave and found themselves face to face with Charles.

“Shit,” said Pietro.

“Dumbwaiter,” said Clint.

“What?”

“Dumbwaiter, come on!”

Pietro turned to Clint but he was gone, already clear across the room and climbing into the service elevator.

“Pietro, come on!” he shouted.

Pietro made to run forward but Charles grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the floor. He looked up just in time to see Charles slam the button next to the service elevator.

“Pietro!” Clint shouted again.

Then the doors slammed shut. Pietro scrambled to his feet and was there in a flash, trying to pry the doors open again as Clint’s muffled voice, screaming his name, faded farther and farther away. He noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Charles raising a metal pipe in his hand before everything went black.


	12. To the Rescue

Pietro woke up with a splitting headache. His hands and feet were tied and there was a strip of duct tape covering his mouth. He glanced around. He was lying on a hotel room floor, and standing over him was his captor – Charles.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Pietro tried to get his hands free to no avail.

“Would you look at this?” said Charles. “I caught an Avenger. And not just any Avenger. I caught the _uncatchable_ Avenger. If my friends could see me now.”

Having no luck freeing his hands, Pietro started inching toward the window. Maybe he would be able to escape by throwing himself out and... well, hopefully not dying. He’d barely made it a foot before Charles noticed and grabbed him.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, boy,” he snarled. 

He pulled out a switchblade and snapped it open.

“The only reason you’re still alive, Quicksilver, is because I wanted you to be awake when I killed you. I wanted you to feel yourself dying.”

Pietro squirmed in Charles’ grip; he’d felt himself dying once before and he didn’t much fancy doing that again. Charles knelt down, pressing his knee into Pietro’s chest to hold him still. Then he grabbed a fistful of Pietro’s hair and forced his head back before holding the knife to his exposed throat. Pietro didn’t dare struggle now. Even the slightest movement could send that cold blade dashing across his skin and drown him in his own blood.

“See, this is why I wanted to wait to kill you,” said Charles. “For that fear in your eyes. You’re absolutely terrified. Some superhero you are.”

Just then, there was a loud bang and Charles looked up. In the reflection from the dresser mirror, Pietro could see Clint standing in the doorway, his bow held aloft and aimed at Charles.

“Let go of my boyfriend, you son of a bitch,” Clint demanded.

Charles’ grip tightened and Pietro felt the blade press harder against his throat, a sharp sting telling him it had broken skin. Clint didn’t bother with a second warning. He let loose the bowstring and sent the arrow straight into Charles’ neck. Charles fell backwards, spasming in pain before going still. Clint rushed to Pietro’s side. He ripped away the duct tape, then drew a knife and cut his bonds. He pulled Pietro into his arms and kissed him desperately.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Pietro.

Clint still looked freaked out, holding Pietro’s face in his hands while his eyes darted all over, checking for injuries.

“Clint, it’s okay, I’m not hurt,” Pietro said. “We did it, he’s dead.”

“We’re not finished yet,” said Clint. “Charles wasn’t working alone.”

“What?”

“He had an accomplice, and on top of that, there’s a second bomb,” Clint explained. “The rest of the Avengers are on their way, I called them while I was stuck in the dumbwaiter, but I don’t think they’ll be able to get here in time. We’ve gotta get to that bomber.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Pietro said.

Clint stood up and helped Pietro to his feet, then they hurried out into the hall.

“Wait!” said Pietro, stopping suddenly. “What if we can’t get there in time? What about all the people in the hotel?”

“Shit...”

Clint glanced around, then went and pulled the fire alarm on the opposite wall.

“There we go. Easy evacuation,” he said. “Now follow me.”

They ran down the stairs, Pietro forcing himself to keep pace with Clint instead of rushing ahead. Finally, they reached the lobby.

“This way!” Clint said.

He led the way across the lobby and into the hotel bar, then gestured for Pietro to stop. Standing at the bar with her back to them was a woman. Clint nocked an arrow and raised his bow. 

“Raise your hands and turn around,” he ordered.

The woman obeyed and Pietro’s heart dropped in horror. It was the bartender he’d talked to the night before.

“ _You!_ ”


	13. Light 'Em Up

 

“You know, kid, you should really know better than to spill all your secrets to curious bartenders,” the woman said with a smirk.

“This is all my fault,” said Pietro.

“What did you tell her?” Clint said nervously.

“Oooh, he told me _all_ about you,” the woman said. “About your beautiful smile, and how _brave_ and _selfless_ you are. Charles had been suspicious about you two for a few days, so when you showed up in my bar last night... all it took was a few extra strong drinks and some gentle coaxing and lovesick little Quicksilver here was blabbing just enough for me to put two and two together and work out who we were dealing with. A pair of Avengers. That had Charles all nervous, so he started the countdown a lot sooner than we planned. But look at you two. I don’t know why he was worried. You’re both absolutely _useless_.”

Pietro knew he shouldn’t let the insult bother him, he had been called much worse, but it stung nonetheless. Worse was knowing that he was to blame for all of this. Especially if anything went wrong.

“Clint, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Everybody fucks up sometimes, and trust me, it coulda been a lot worse,” said Clint.

“Oh, but it is,” said the woman.

She stepped slightly to the side to reveal the second bomb sitting on the bar counter waiting to be set off.

“Oh good, we found the bomb,” Pietro said sarcastically.

“You really wanna disable this thing, don’t you?” the woman taunted. “Well, you’re gonna have a hell of a time with that.”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked.

The woman took a step forward and they both tensed, ready to fight if need be.

“What I mean is... it’s awful hard to disable a bomb when you’re paralyzed,” she said.

Pietro and Clint exchanged a confused glance.

“Paralyzed?” Pietro echoed. “What do y–”

Suddenly, his whole body froze up. He couldn’t move, not even to catch himself as his legs gave out and he fell to the floor. Clint collapsed next to him, his bow clattering out of his hand. The woman came forward and knelt between them, smirking triumphantly and holding up a tiny device.

“Little piece of Stark tech from back in the old days,” she said. “It was never approved to go to market, but Tony Stark’s partner back then was doing some deals under the table and my boss managed to get his hands on this work of art.”

The woman stood back up and went to the bar counter, coming back a moment later with the bomb. She set it on the floor between Pietro and Clint and started the countdown.

“Fifteen minutes of paralysis. But only ten minutes until this thing blows. What a tragedy. Your little friends won’t even be able to tell what parts belong to who when they find you,” she said. “Bye-bye, boys. I’d say ‘see you later’ but... well, you’re not gonna be seeing much of anything soon.”

Then she left. 

Dammit, Stark. Why was it that every time Pietro found himself staring death in the face, Stark was somehow to blame? He didn’t mean to, of course, Pietro knew that, but still it kept happening. And now here he was, lying there trapped, staring down a bomb that was sure to kill him. It was like he was ten years old again, only this time he _knew_ he was going to die. There was no escaping it, no slim chance that the bomb wouldn’t go off, that he and Clint would live. No, they were stuck, paralyzed, forced to watch the last minutes of their lives tick by as they stared wordlessly at each other, trying to fit a thousand apologies and “I love you”s into a single look.

But something wasn’t right. Only five minutes had gone by, and Pietro could already sense some of the feeling coming back to his body. _Of course_. One of the perks of his superpowers was faster healing; it must have been working on the paralysis, making him recover quicker. He wasn’t sure how much he would be able to move, but maybe, just maybe, he could save them after all.

With a tremendous effort, Pietro lifted his arm just enough to smack the bomb away from them. It slid several feet, but not far enough. There was still no way they could survive the explosion from that proximity, not without some sort of protection. _The tables!_ They were scattered around the bar, all metal, not particularly strong but sturdy enough to form a shield. But getting close enough to knock them down and create a barricade was going to be incredibly difficult with as little strength as he had. It was highly possible that he wouldn’t be able to get far enough away from the bomb in time to survive. He glanced at Clint. If Pietro could move the tables, then maybe Clint at least could make it. Pietro had been willing to die for Clint once and he’d barely known him then. He was certainly willing to die for him now, if that was what it took.

Slowly, he started crawling toward the first of the tables. Moving had never taken so much effort in his life, and his entire body was screaming to go faster but he couldn’t. Finally, he reached the first table and kicked it down. Then he started for the next one. And the next one.

He had knocked down five tables by the time his strength began to fail. Besides that, there had to be less than a minute before the bomb went off. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to go now. He started to make his way back toward Clint, all of his muscles burning in pain and fatigue, but he ignored it. He had to keep going. He couldn’t stop now. He was so close. Only a few more feet...

Pietro collapsed, panting and exhausted. He couldn’t make it any further. He had no strength left. He rolled over onto his back with his last wisp of energy and glanced over at his handiwork. It wasn’t much, but the tables would at least absorb some of the blast. Maybe it would be enough. He turned to Clint and was surprised to discover him slowly closing the gap between them. Pietro shook his head frantically, trying to tell him to stay back.

_Save yourself, you idiot. Stay where you’re safe._

But Clint stubbornly continued crawling toward him. Pietro glanced between the tables, where the bomb was still visible. He could just barely see the little red numbers on the clock. Five seconds. As he turned his head back around, Clint flung himself over Pietro, shielding him with his body. 

_No!_

Then the bomb went off.


	14. Out of the Wreckage

Pietro came to slowly, his senses all fogged by pain and smoke. The room around him was utterly destroyed, patches of fire smoldering. Clint was still on top of him, unconscious. Pietro gently rolled him off and sat up, checking Clint’s pulse. Thank God, he was still alive. He gave Clint a little shake, trying to wake him.

“Clint,” he said, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “Come on, Clint, wake up.”

No luck. He glanced around. The explosion had thoroughly demolished the room and it looked like the ceiling might cave in at any moment. They had to get out of there. Pietro got to his feet, then bent back down and lifted Clint in his arms. He was strong, but he certainly wasn’t Captain America, and Clint was a lot heavier than he looked. Between carrying Clint and his own exhaustion, there wasn’t much chance of a quick exit. He readjusted his hold on Clint, then began the painfully slow walk through the wreckage.

The explosion had ripped a hole in the side of the hotel, leading straight outside. Pietro stumbled over the rubble piled up there and emerged into the street through a massive cloud of black smoke.

“Pietro!” a voice called.

He looked up. Wanda was running toward him, closely followed by Natasha, the rest of the Avengers not far behind. Pietro smiled in relief and staggered forward a few more steps, then his knees buckled. He lowered Clint to the ground as gently as he could before collapsing into a coughing fit. Suddenly, Wanda was at his side.

“Are you okay?” she asked frantically.

Pietro just nodded. Natasha had joined them and was now kneeling next to Clint, looking worried.

“It’s okay, he’s alive,” Pietro said. 

“Oh thank God,” Natasha sighed. “And the bomber?”

“She got away.”

“Damn...”

“We might be able to track her down, though,” Pietro said. “She sort of told us more than she should’ve, probably ‘cause she assumed we would die.”

“Good,” said Natasha. “Whatever these people want, I doubt they’ll stop at just blowing up a hotel. They’ll strike again.”

Just then, Clint groaned and opened his eyes with a grimace.

“Hey look, we survived,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, we did,” said Pietro, smiling at him.

“Thanks to you. That’s two I owe you, kid.”

Pietro leaned down and kissed Clint on the forehead.

“You saved me twice today,” he said. “I think we can call it even.”

 

 

The End...

 

...Or is it?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I've definitely left things open for a sequel and even I can't answer the question of whether or not one will happen... so we'll all just have to wait and see. Thank you all for reading and for your kudos and lovely comments! :)


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